Endurance (11 page)

Tom glanced
briefly at the two men on the ground in front of him. Without
hesitation, Tom turned and began to run. Almost immediately, he
stumbled, falling forward. He protected his face by putting his
hands in front of him on the congested concrete path.

I need to get
used to this.

Tom pushed
himself up and attempted to run again. He sprinted into the road.
The cars beeped at him, with people occasionally shouting abuse at
him out their windows.

Smith looked
around and spotted Tom running down the path, knocking people out
of his way.

‘
Miller, get
up! He’s getting away,’ Smith shouted. Smith pulled out a
walkie-talkie and spoke into it.

‘
In need of
support, the patient is making a run for it.’

Smith put the
walkie-talkie in his pocket and attached an ear piece. He ran to
get his gun out of the road. He stood there, picked up the gun and
attached it to his belt. A car skidded toward him beeping its horn.
He jumped out of the way and ran in Tom’s direction.

Miller got up
and watched as Smith galloped after Tom.

A black van
approached Miller and stopped. The side door slid open. A muscular,
ebony man stared at him. Miller hastily jumped into the van and it
sped off with a sharp screech.

I don’t know
how long I can run. I’m not the fittest person. Should I hide out
in a building? There must be an abandoned building nearby where I
can hide out and plan my next move.

As Tom
reached the next street corner, he took a left under some trees. He
entered another street, similar to the last; busy traffic, suited
men running or cycling, the occasional tourist or foreign tourist
observing, taking photos of the buildings. Tom didn’t pause; he
kept running. He looked behind him. There is no sign of Smith or
Miller.

Tom continued
to run in the boiling temperatures. His cheeks overheated and his
whole body ached. His shirt was damp and it stuck to his skin. His
mouth was dry, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He could
no longer swallow. His breathing was wheezy.

Come on. Get
to a hideout.

Tom was in an
area of London he didn’t recognise. The graffiti was everywhere;
sides of buildings, backs of signs, overhangs. The buildings were
tinted with dark grime. Dust stained the windows. He looked down
the empty street; tissues and plastic bags rolled across the road
and gathered on steps of homes. Tom slowed the tempo of his run to
a jog.

As he
continued to look at his surroundings, he heard a screeching noise,
and an aggressive rev of an engine that started to gain on him. He
looked round to see a black van speeding through the streets. It
overtook him and skidded to a stop, the back swung around with the
sliding door facing Tom. The door slid open and out stepped Smith
with a bloody nose and shirt. He pulled out his gun and aimed at
Tom, as did the other suited, ebony man.

‘
Mr.
Williams. Stay calm, put your hands up and turn around. If you make
a move, we will shoot you,’ Smith said, taking cautious steps
toward Tom. ‘This is Malcolm. He’s an agent like me, sent to look
after you, he’s backup. He’s going to cuff you and you’re going to
come in this van with us and go back to the home now
okay?’

Tom didn’t
answer as he stared at Smith and Malcolm.

Shit, what
can I do now?

Miller
stepped out of the van and folded his arms.

‘
What have
you achieved here, Tom? We want to help you, you’re not well,’
Malcolm said cautiously.

‘
I’m not
ill.’

Tom looked at
Miller’s stubborn, wrinkled face as he frowned at Tom’s words. His
eyes darkened.

‘
Yes, Tom.
You are ill.’ Miller said forcefully.

Malcolm
approached and lowered his gun.

Fuck it.
Run.

Tom spotted
an alleyway to his left, he sprinted toward it. Smith shot at Tom
and continued to shoot at him as he ran.

Tom reached
the alleyway and sprinted through the steam and the rat infested
dim path and ducked behind a large container. Smith and Malcolm
shot the metal container. The bullets travelled through the bin and
into the wall around Tom.

They weren’t
joking about real fucking bullets.

‘
Tom, this is
getting ridiculous now, you’ll get yourself killed. Just come out
with your hands up.’ Miller shouted.

Tom leaned
against the bin, scrunched down as small as he could make himself.
He looked for anywhere to go. If he attempted escape, he would be
shot. Located to his left was a door.

I could try
to make that door. If it’s locked, I’m screwed. If it’s unlocked
then maybe, just maybe I can hide out and take them out one by
one.

Tom launched
himself off the bin and darted to the door. The gunshots rang
through the alleyway and the bullets whistled past Tom, chipping
the bricked walls and cracking empty beer bottles on the ground. As
he reached the door he used his prosthetic leg to kick it open. The
force the leg had was unreal. The door flew open and Tom entered
the building. Smith and Malcolm chased after him into the
dark.

Tom began to
run up countless flights of stairs, leading to rooms that all
looked identical. The rooms were big, empty, dark, and smelled
horribly dusty. The windows were covered in white plastic that
eerily moved in the breeze that entered the cracked
plastering.

Tom walked
across an open room and found a stairwell. The room had a gaping
hole, with stairs leading up from the lower floor to the level he
stood on. Tom held his breath as he leaned over to look through a
gap between the stairs. He sees Smith and Malcolm, as they
exchanged hand signals upon entering the building.

Tom stayed on
the level he was on and entered a room under construction. Tools
and machines were scattered around the partially demolished room.
He walked through the opening in the wall to his right. The next
room had a hole in the wooden flooring the size of a beach ball.
Tom peered down the hole.

He saw
Malcolm pass beneath him. As Malcolm disappeared into darkness, Tom
sat on his backside and slid toward gap. He dangled his legs
through it. Then he lowered himself into a sinister corridor. He
tried to drop silently, but his left leg made a slight thump.
Malcolm paused in his steps to listen. Tom carefully stepped to his
left, deeper into the shadows, and leaned against the
wall.

Malcolm aimed
his gun and walked in Tom’s direction. As he neared Tom, he slowed.
He stopped almost directly in front of Tom. Tom could smell his
perspiration and hear him breathing. The floorboards creaked as
Malcolm shifted his weight and continued moving slowly
forward.

As he crept
behind Tom, Tom crouched and leapt straight into Malcolm. Tom
connected solidly with his waist and tackled him into the wall.
They both fell through it. Malcolm shot wildly into the
air.

Malcolm lost
grip of his gun; it slid across the floor.

Tom straddled
Malcolm’s chest and punched him once in the face. As he prepared to
hit Malcolm again, Malcolm grabbed him and flipped him easily over
his head. Tom landed awkwardly on his shoulder and stayed down.
Malcolm strode over and whacked Tom solidly in the face. Tom tried
to stand, but Malcolm kicked him in the side and again in the
stomach. Tom winced in pain as he lay on the floor. His face rested
on the dust carpeted floor; the breeze blew the dust so that it
seemed to crawl. Tom watched the dust patterns creep away. His
sight was blurred and his mind was blank.

Malcolm
picked up his gun. Facing Tom, he put the gun to his face and
aimed.

‘
Tom? Tom
where are you? Agents, do not kill him!’ shouted Miller from
somewhere inside the building.

‘
I don’t give
a shit what he wants. You’re scum for killing all those women and
children,’ Malcolm said with a vengeance.

Tom looked in
Malcolm’s eyes. There was no fear in his eyes.

Tom prepared
to be shot. He shut his eyes; as he did, a gunshot went
off.

The gunshot
echoed throughout the building. Smith paused as he realised the
shot was on the floor below. He ran to the main stairs in the
centre of the abandoned building and saw Miller running up the
stairs, jumping two steps each stride.

They entered
the room that Tom and Malcolm were in. Someone was lying on the
floor. Smith looked around the room while Miller rushed to the
figure. Miller fell to his knees next to the body and struggled to
turn it over. As he breathed heavily, he flipped the body, only to
see Malcolm’s dead eyes staring at him. Tom was gone. ‘Mike, get
out of here. I’ll sort this out.’ Smith told Miller.

‘
Do not kill
him. We need him.’

Miller left
the room and ran toward the stairs.

Smith stood
in the middle of the room, listening, but could hear nothing.
Finally, he walked into the darkness.

Miller rushed
outside and jumped into the black van. He sat in the driver’s seat,
pulled out his mobile phone. He reached across the passenger seat
to the glove box. He dug around for a bit before pulling out a
gun.

Smith
wandered stealthily in the darkness. He was shocked when some light
was generated from one of the windows. Smith turned to his right to
see the bag had been ripped off the window. Smith was startled by
the reflection and shot without aiming. He heard something
smash.

Smith turned
to see a figure running toward him, wearing a black hooded jumper
and trousers, wielding a metal bar.

The person
swung the bar at Smith’s head. He ducked beneath the bar and
punched the attacker in the stomach. Smith heard a grunt, and
kicked the metal bar from the person’s hands, followed by a quick
succession of blows to the stomach.

The figure
collapsed to the floor, groaning. As Smith prepared to deliver a
follow-up kick, he was hit forcefully on the back of his head.
Smith was knocked senseless for a moment. He rolled over and saw
Tom standing above him with the metal bar.

‘
Have this
you stupid…’ Tom was interrupted by the sound of gun
shots.

The bullets
flew past him. He was so distracted; Smith was able to grab the
metal bar.
Tom vigorously attempted to shake Smith’s grip, but he forced Tom
into a column in the middle of the room. Tom kneed Smith in the
balls. Smith shrieked and threw the bar away and grabbed Tom around
the throat. He choked Tom, trying his best to choke the very life
out of him. Tom tried to shake off Smith’s hands and punched his
solid stomach.

‘
Fucking
die.’ Smith spat at Tom.

Tom was
choking; he wheezed in small sips of air.

Smith threw
Tom aside as he heard the previous attacker’s steel toecap boots
scratch the wooden floor. Smith jabbed at the attacker’s face; he
missed, but the person kicked Smith in the thigh with the steel toe
boots.

He regained
his balance and he and his attacker began to fight. Tom tried to
stand to help his rescuer. The figure’s hood was thrown back,
revealing a dark-skinned girl whose hair was tied up. Tom gasped in
shock.

Danni!

Danni looked
at Tom’s shocked expression. While distracted, she was hit on the
side of her face. The skin on her face shook, ripples formed on her
cheeks. She concentrated again on fighting Smith. They countered
one another’s moves.

Tom rolled
forward and pushed himself off the ground. As he rose, a woman
appeared from behind the pillar and pointed a gun in Tom’s
face.

‘
Stay here or
I’ll shoot you.’

Tom
recognised the voice.

‘
Lucy. Why
are you doing this? Help me. Me, you and Danni can…’

‘
Shut up
right now. .’ Lucy shouted.

A gunshot
rang through the empty room. Tom’s eardrums vibrated. Tom rapidly
turned to look at Danni and Smith. Danni was on the ground with
Smith pointing a gun at her. His eye looked sheltered within his
swollen face, but his self-righteous smirk still managed to show
through all the blood.

‘
That is
enough. Enough damage has been caused here, Tom. Now come with me.’
Miller roared as he walked up to Tom, brandishing his gun
threateningly.

Tom was
roughly grabbed from behind. His arms were held tightly, and he was
kicked in the backs of his knees, forcing him to kneel down. He
looked up to see the Smith’s stubbled chin. Miller stood in front
of Tom and pulled out a syringe. He squirted some liquid out and
then stuck it forcefully into Tom’s neck.

Tom
helplessly looked to Lucy; she leaned against the pillar with her
arms folded, holding her sides. Tom fell onto his back and moved to
lie on his side. He looked at Danni’s body.

She can’t be
dead, there’s no blood. I don’t think Smith shot her, Miller must
have shot in the air.